


burn

by newsiees



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: M/M, race loves him for who he is, spot is not used to acting upon his feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 08:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10849809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newsiees/pseuds/newsiees
Summary: spot and race have fire in their hearts.





	burn

**Author's Note:**

> esponse to the ask: "sprace “i’m sorry i ended up falling for you”" on my tumblr, newsiees.

The door creaked, warning Race before allowing a gush of cold air to collide with his face. The utility company must have seized their heat. He shuddered through his sigh and braved the breeze.

Upon entering the living room, Race realized Spot was nowhere to be found. Sometimes he would send a loud, usually incoherent greeting from the kitchen, other times he would merely grunt in response to Race’s call. Perhaps he needed to be induced into conversation.

“Hey, Spot?”

Grunt. There it was. It came from the couch where Race had suddenly noticed a large lump of dark blankets. With closer inspection, two icy blue eyes presented themselves from black holes in the fleece.

“You okay in there?” Race said with a fond chuckle.

“Yeah, get in.”

Race toed off his shoes and zipped up his sweatshirt before cramming into an open fold. Soon, his eyes were aligned with a chapped, lopsided grin.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You’re cute when you’re cold.”

Spot smiled at Race’s shoulder, still unfamiliar with casual compliments.

“How long has the heat been off?” Race smiled and leaned closer to Spot, softening the question.

“Um…” A shrug and flinch. “It was cold when I got home.”

“Okay…” Race rolled his shoulders back and took a deep breath. Deciding to move on for now, he leaned into Spot’s shoulder, drooping his weight onto the other. “How was work?”

“Fine. How about you?”

“What was fine about it?”

Spot ignored him, “Did your boss like your assignment?”

“Spot, how was your day?”

“I told you. Fine. Your turn. That’s how it works,” Spot wriggled, uneasy and awkward.

Race positioned his chin upon Spot’s shoulder.

“Spot.”

“Literally _nothing_ happened. I don’t know what you want from me.” Spot was squeezing his shoulders up, lifting his body in hopes of floating away.

Race held his breath. Spot was heating into an unpredictable flame.

“Okay. We can either talk about the insane amount of work you do for a company that does not appreciate you or we can talk about the fact that _one of us_ forgot to pay for the heat.”

“Fine,” Spot challenged, throwing the blankets off of them into a helpless splay of warmth on the floor. “Have it your way, _Anthony_.”

Race threw his arms up and let their heavy anger drive them back down.

“ _What_ is your problem?”

“Nothing!” Spot hissed. “You’re the one who started it.”

“By asking you how your day went and actually _caring_ about the answer?” Race countered.

“I just- you’re just so- I can’t- argh! Just stop it! I can’t _believe_ you.”

“You are so confusing!”

“You’ve made that clear! Why the heck are we even here? We can’t even pay for heat let alone _get along_! And we’re not even _dating_.” Spot was turning blue from the frigid air and his strained temper, heaving unevenly.

“What?” Race froze, craving comfort from Spot as well as repressing the desire to sock him real good.

“I-I don’t know!” Spot screeched, voice cracking in a growl as he leaned his elbows to his knees, jerking his hair with his hands. He let out a sharp breath as he let go, standing up slowly with rigid fingers. “You...you should go.”

“Spot…”

“It’s cold. _I’m_ cold. It’s not like we’re boyfriends or anything. You don’t need to ask me how my day went or...or tell me I’m-I’m _cute_ or whatever. We’re friends who just live together. And now I guess we like to sleep together. Isn’t that all?”

“Is that all to you?” Race wasn’t sure Spot heard him. Race could barely understand his own words.

“You should go.” Spot was trembling. It must have been the cold.

“Okay.” Race turned slowly. Maybe to give Spot a chance to grab his arm and wrap him in apologies. Maybe because he could barely stand.

“Just...just go somewhere warm. Please.” Spot trailed behind Race, body wishing it was running away.

Race stopped at the door, his insides swirling with red anger and confusion. He turned, muscles stiff and clenched and unwilling to move.

“What about you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Without me?”

Spot hid his eyes, clenching them closed. No nod, no regard to Race’s statement at all. Perhaps that was the answer.

“I’m sorry I ended up falling for you.” Race closed the door with his words.

“Yeah. I’m sorry I fell for you too,” Spot told the door. But the door didn’t care. Not like Race.

***

_two days and fifteen hours later_

“Hello, is this Anthony Higgins?”

“Yes, this is he.” Race had barely pressed ‘answer’ in time. He was not expecting a call from the hospital.

“Right. I’m calling for the Regional Hospital. You’re the emergency contact for a Mister Sean Conlon?”

“I am?” A passing coworker raised an eyebrow at Race’s scattered façade.

“Are you familiar with a Mister Sean Conlon?”

Race almost laughed. Familiar? He’d only known everything about Spot since they were in middle school.

“Yes, I am. What do you need?”

“Well, he is doing just fine...He only needs a ride home.”

Race’s mind blanked before being invaded with a plethora of imagined situations.

“What? Is he okay?”

“Yes, Mister Higgins. I just said he was fine. He just needs you to come pick him up here. Emergency gate, please. You were the only number on the list or else I would offer to call another.” The doctor seemed slightly irritated by Race’s inconsistency, though Race assumed it was probably better than his patient’s.

“I’m coming down now. Thank you for calling.”

“That is my job, sir.”

Race ended the call, after several sweaty failed attempts, and grabbed his phone. Stuttering an apology and an rambling explanation over his shoulder, Race was out the door.

***

Race almost slipped on the blinding white floors as his shaking steps carried him to the desk.

“I’m here for Sean.”

“You will have to be more specific, sir,” the receptionist sighed at him. She appeared close to yawning. She must have been there for hours.

“Sorry, Conlon. Sean Conlon. C-o-n-”

“Room 312.”

“Thank you.”

Race forced himself not to run as he searched for his room number. He finally found the clean sign and whipped into the room, hand on the door jamb to rotate his body around.

His body came inches in front of Spot’s, who became paralyzed in the midst of pacing.

Race’s hand reached out for Spot’s face before Race’s brain forced his heart to freeze.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m _fine_.” Spot spat, continuing to storm aimlessly around the room.

A feminine laugh filled the room before a matching voice followed, “I see you’ve found him! You must be Anthony.”

Race turned towards the voice, which belonged to a young nurse decorated in bright scrubs. Her eyebrows rose as he turned and she blinked a few times before throwing on her model smile.

“I’m Mikayla. I’ve been in charge of keeping an eye on him.”

“Thanks. Is he okay?”

She laughed casually, as if on a first date. Spot and Race shifted their eyes towards one another like they would have before, connected laughter in the back of their throats.

“Oh, yes! He passed out at work this morning. He was incredibly cold and hadn’t seemed to have eaten but we’ve been able to get his body functioning properly again, all set and warm.” She sent a falsely fond smile at Spot, who was pointedly scowling at her. “He is a prickly one! But I think he has a good heart. He heated right up when he heard we called you!” She stepped closer to Race, but he was looking at Spot. “You must be a wonderful best friend.”

“I don’t know. What do you think, Spot?” Race was standing incredibly straight to maximize the distance between the nurse and him, yet he still managed to smirk at Spot.

Spot scrunched his mouth, grinding his teeth.

“I think we have to go.”

The nurse stepped back bashfully, batting her eyelashes in apology.

“You’re right. Spot needs some warmth. I trust you can give it to him.”

“Right…” Race laughed slightly, motioning for Spot. “C’mon.”

Spot lifted his chin and stomped out the door after Race.

“Wait, Anthony!”

Race smiled hurriedly back at the girl. “Mm?”

“Do you think...maybe I could get your number?”

“I’m sorry.”

***

Spot followed Race out of starched hospital, noiselessly save the loud smirk dancing on his face.

Race opened the passenger door for Spot, as he always did, before looping around the front of the car to sit in the driver’s seat. Once settled there, seatbelt on and key in the ignition, Race finally looked over at Spot.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Spot’s smirk slid into a scowl, but he sighed and slouched into the seat, head in hand as his elbow balanced on the ledge of the windowsill.

“I’m fine.”

“That’s what you said before. But here you are three days later and you haven’t eaten.”

Shrug.

Race rolled his eyes and decided to focus on driving. When he finally pulled up to Jack and David’s apartment complex, Race jumped out of the car. He had been holding his breath and the fresh air was calming. All he wanted was a hug. 

It was barely noon so Race searched his key ring for the worn label that Davey had spent hours making at his makeshift craft table: _J+D_.

After the door screamed at the two boys to cut the tension, Race revolved around.

“Okay, Spot. We’re talking now.”

Spot kept his head down, plunging his hands deep into his pockets.

“Why did you freak the other day? Things had been fine. No, things had been _great_. _You_ had been great. What gives?”

Mumble, mumble. Spot wiped his face on his shoulder, avoiding any confrontation.

“Sean.”

Spot’s head snapped up and he tried to narrow his eyes. They blurred and he sniffled in their fog. “Anthony.”

“I’m here for you.”

“Then tell me what this whole thing _means!_ ”

“What?”

Spot spun in a circle, searching before laying his arms out in front of him, directed at Race.

“This thing.”

“This...thing,” Spot spluttered, gesturing between his heart and Race’s.

“Okay...what do _you_ want it to mean?” Race was comfortable enough to take a reassuring step forward, but too hesitant to be anything but subtle.

“Stop, stop, stop!” Spot’s muscles were clenched in internal combat.

Silence.

“Race...this wasn’t supposed to happen.” Spot drooped his arms, surrendering to his feelings as he finally made eye contact with Race. His face shined with fresh tears.

“Do you wish it hadn’t?” Time froze, though Jack and David’s apartment was adequately heated.

“No.”

“What are you saying?”

“Are you really sorry you ended up falling for me, Race?” Spot’s throat trembled in a repressed hiccup.

Race started towards Spot, careful to maintain eye contact and permission, though the prudence was unecessary. Spot was pleading for Race to make the first move.

“I...am so thankful,” Race began, slowly and sincerely, “that I have fallen for you, Spot Conlon.”

Spot breathed out a thankful swear and the two clasped each other into a burning hug.

“So you just wanted clarity?” Race kindly whispered into Spot’s ear, not yet satisfied with the explanation.

“I was _confused_ , Racetrack,” Spot muttered into Race’s shoulder.

Race opened the hug and let his hands rest on the sides of Spot’s arms.

“Whaddya say we clear it up and go on a real date, called a date, with each other as dates?” Race smiled softly, admiring Spot’s attempts not to appear vulnerable.

“Yeah, okay. I’m _starving_.” Spot grinned at Race, his eyes thanking Race.

Race only laughed and rolled his eyes as he followed Spot out Jack and David’s door, realizing suddenly that their hands were grasped together.

And their hearts were warm.


End file.
